


Bringing the Hound to Heel

by Sushi4Brains



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Felching, M/M, Rough Sex, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6980761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sushi4Brains/pseuds/Sushi4Brains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, all it takes is an older, wiser alpha to bring a mad dog to heel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bringing the Hound to Heel

Heavy footsteps echo down the corridor; he’d arrived sooner than expected, but this was an urgent summons after all.

Ibiki never once looked up from the paperwork before him. Not a word was exchanged between them as Sarutobi Asuma swept through the crowded office; sidestepping those assembled, he snatched up the key laying atop a stack of paperwork on the corner of the desk.  

To the tiny interrogation room on the left side of the office he walked as the staffers looked to each other and Ibiki. Tiny gasps of surprise rang throughout the space as Asuma unlocked the door.   

“But I thought that room was reserved only for Ibiki-san’s use,” one of them whispered as the door creaked open and the other man slipped inside.

“That’s all for now … dismissed,” Ibiki growled.  “And for the next hour, I’m not to be disturbed … understood?”

“But sir,” the mousy blond at his elbow said, “the Hokage is expecting these reports --”

“She’ll understand, Masato.  Now all of you … get the hell outta here!”

It was the Hokage who first heard the news, minutes after he crossed the border; fearing the worst, she’d contacted Ibiki and Asuma… entrusting them to quietly deal with this volatile situation.

Gruff dismissals from the presence of the Torture and Interrogation Division’s chief weren’t that big a deal; it happened fairly often.  Unfazed, they gathered up the reports and scurried away.

“A returning squad probably captured an enemy,” Masato assured his coworkers.  “And you know how Ibiki-san hates interruptions in the midst of a cross examination.”

“But Sarutobi-san doesn’t work with us,” countered the stick thin woman beside him.

“That’s not our concern at the moment.”

A blast of superheated air, pushed them backwards slamming them into the cold stone walls of the corridor; the rapid click of spike soled boots struck fear in their hearts as an enraged Hound stomped past.  In the blink of an eye he was gone ... and so too were they.

A mission gone wrong, a comrade lost;

absolution he sought for the sin of omission.

That’s what drove Hound to this place.

Both Ibiki and Asuma would understand the stresses he was under; only they understood what needed being done.

A complete tear down in order to rebuild, to set things right.

When the office door slammed against the opposite wall, Ibiki didn't flinch, no outward sign was there in his demeanor suggesting he even heard Hound enter. There was a clatter of metal as the bloodied armor was shucked from his body; Ibiki ignored that too, simply inclining his head to the left as he continued writing.  

From inside the now open room, he heard the rattle of the old razor strop as Hound wrenched it free of the crooked masonry nail on the wall.

The pen trembles in his hand as his cock awakes from slumber.

Several minutes pass before the squeaky wheel on his chair squeals when at last he pushes himself from the desk. Seventeen steps and he’s inside the small windowless room. The smell of sweat, dirt and blood crashes into his nostrils like a carefully assembled nosegay of testosterone.  

To his right stands Asuma, stripped to the waist; the razor strop, clenched in his fist ... an unlit cigarette, dangling from the corner of his tightly drawn lips. On the floor to his left lays a blood stained pile of clothing and before his ever widening eyes, Hound ...naked and silent, struggles against the straps binding him to the padded sawhorse.  

Without a word, he and Asuma exchange places; from his pocket, he removes a small vial of oil and slips it into the other man’s waiting hand.

Their purpose clear, words need not utterance.

The vial is tipped, drizzling saffron colored, almond scented oil over rounded, trembling buttocks of ivory.  Ibiki hums to himself as droplets of the oil spray into the air with the first strike of the strop.  His mouth waters as he watches tanned biceps flex and extend each time the strop is brought down on its target.  The hisses and howls of pain as Hound absorbs each strike with a body encompassing shiver, go straight to his cock.

He steps back and to the side, all the better to admire the view.  Tender, swollen flesh flattening and rebounding each time the strop landed.   _Hound always did color nicely under the lashes,_ he thought. The dark brown leather against the glowing rubor, the bronze hue of the stockily built Asuma, the black hair on his arms and chest, slicked down with sweat …ah yes, how he longed to stroke himself.  But he would not; their mission not yet complete.

Asuma’s breathing changes pitch as the strikes come harder and faster; the volume of Hound’s grunts soars higher.

“Harder,” he shouts to the man wielding the strop.  “He hasn’t broken yet.”

The noise of wood as it scrapes across the floor is almost deafening as each strike forces Hound against the sawhorse.

Like claps of thunder, twelve more strikes push Hound and Asuma halfway across the room.

He sees it in the man’s shoulders, the bow of his head as he surrenders.  Asuma realizes it at the same time and they look to one another.

_Time for phase two._

Ibiki moves quickly, releasing the bound wrists; likewise, the man with the strop sets free Hound’s ankles.

They allow the snarling, cursing malcontent but a moment to catch his breath … long enough for him to attempt an escape.

At the door, he’s blocked by a burly body; a backhanded slap sends him reeling into Ibiki and Hound finds himself in a choke hold.

His bearded tormentor is upon him in an instant, with his meat hook of a hand latched around his scrotum, squeezing his grapes like a garlic press.

The smell of nicotine and bitter black tea splashes against his face when Asuma growls, “Knew I shouldn’t have gone easy on ya.”

He crumples to his knees the second Ibiki releases him … doesn’t bother looking up when he hears the sawhorse being dragged back into place.

_He knows what’s coming._

Slowly, Asuma hefts him to his feet, but not before grinding his crotch against Hound's reddened face. Back over the sawhorse he goes; and this time, only his ankles are trammeled in place.  

Deep breaths intended to help him calm down

add a sharper edge to the anticipation.

The cork on the small vial pops open again and two beefy fingers find their way to his quivering entrance.  Hound turns his head and glances up to his right; there stands Ibiki, glaring at him with a smirk, one hand on his hip, the other methodically stroking his cock.

From the corner of his eye he sees the bent cigarette roll under the legs of the sawhorse as he’s roughly breached and hastily stretched. As those fingers abruptly withdraw, he exhales deeply, but ere another breath could enter his lungs, the head of Asuma’s fat oiled up cock is pressing its way inside him.

It didn’t take long to get his bearings after that.

He raises his torso and angles his hips for more.

Inch by inch, Asuma plunges deeper inside him as Ibiki takes his place before him, the tip of his cock tapping at his nose.  Another hard thrust forces a gasp out of him, even as it pushes the head of Ibiki’s cock against the flat of his tongue. 

Ibiki smelled of soap and sweat and Hound greedily wraps his lips around him, drawing him further inside his mouth as the appreciative grunts above him drown out his own.

Ragged nails bite into his hips when Asuma slowly pulled out and sank back inside. One more gasp of pain and pleasure allows Ibiki access to the back of his throat.  

With these sensations overwhelming him, he’s holding onto the sides of the sawhorse for dear life as they plunder his body; the fight, the anger … the sadness -  they roll away as he submits to their probing.

Spurts of hot salty cum spill down his throat as Ibiki grabs the back of his head and pulls him closer.  Just then, the head of Asuma’s cock hits that bundle of nerves inside him just right and he spills his seed over Ibiki’s highly polished, open toed boots.

Explosions of bright lights go off behind his closed eyelids and as he tightens around the thick piston like cock, Asuma grabbed a fistful of his hair, furiously pounding away until at last, he shoots his load.

It felt as if any remaining oxygen was sucked out of the room as they all fought to catch their breaths.

Ibiki was the first to clean himself up and step away.

As the door closed behind him, Asuma knelt down, undoing the restraints once more; his hands travel upward, parting Hound’s red, hot cheeks, his tongue darting around his entrance, lapping up traces of his own cum.  And as Hound relaxes, a searing swat to his left buttock sends another blast of fire through his body.

When he stands to his feet, a resonant laugh rumbles from the other man's chest.  Aligning their bodies carefully, making sure his spent cock is contained within the cleft of Hound’s ass, he slicks himself up with the remainder of the oil.

Lifting him by the waist, he pulls Hound backwards; hobbled by the pants around his ankles they collide with the smooth concrete wall behind them.  

He wasted no time, squeezing his thighs together as the man behind him thrusts his hardening cock between them.

He would be denied no longer.

Hound turned himself about, grabbing Asuma by the shoulders and slinging him to the ground; straddling those hairy thighs, he catches hold the base of the other man’s cock and lowers himself down.  His knees hit the floor with a thump - he cared nothing for the pain as large hands cup under tender cheeks, raising him up and slamming him down like a rag doll.

In the span of a breath, Hound is on his back, one of his ankles hooked over a well-muscled shoulder, the other slung over the crook of a brawny arm, as Asuma rams into him without abandon.

It was over far too soon; his shout of release rising to the ceiling, falling back on his face like morning dew.

His chest, drenched with their commingled sweat, his stomach damp and sticky from his own cum; boneless and breathless, he watches a smile track across Asuma's lips.  

 “You gonna be alright now?”

“Probably,” he huffed as his legs slide down to the floor.  “Been a long time since you fucked some sense into me."

"Well, as long as you aren't a threat to the public anymore … it’s cool." 

"Yes, thanks to you, the big bad Hound is but a grumpy, sleepy little pup.”

"I can tell ... your sarcasm lacks its characteristic bite.  Need I remind you Hound-san, don’t go getting a crush on me," he chuckled as he went in search of his shirt and discarded cigarette. "I'm already spoken for."

“Not to worry … you’re too hairy for my taste.”

Long before he’d finished dressing, Asuma was gone.  The biting aromas of lighter fluid and tobacco, the only reminders of his presence.

When the relatively cool air of the outer office hits him in the face, Ibiki was seated at his desk, hunched over another mound of paperwork.

“Here,” he said chucking a thick manila envelope at his head. “Make sure the Hokage gets this.”

With his mask and armor in place, Hound curtly nodded, turned and let himself out.

Not three minutes later, the mousy blond staffer was standing before his desk, another stack of paperwork cradled in his arms.  “I don’t know how you do it, sir," he said, stacking the files neatly to Ibiki's right.  "The guy that just left here is really intense … scary, that’s what he is.”

“No need to fear, Masato.  In this job, you learn how to deal with people in ways they can understand and respond to.”

The mousy blond dared a wink and a shy smile.  “Guess you might say it took an older, wiser alpha male to bring a Hound to heel.”

At last he looked up, a grimace firmly in place.  "Masato?"

"Yes sir?"

"You’ve got seven seconds to remove yourself and your puns from my office." 

The other man straightened up and walked over to the door to the left of Ibiki's desk. With a poke of his finger, the door creaked open and from inside the unlocked room, came the rattle of the old razor strop.

"Maybe, Ibiki-san, it's time I got a refresher course.  Still have so much to learn about dealing with people in ways they can understand and relate to."

 

"Well, I'll be damned …

 guess I’ll have to teach another old dog some new tricks."

 

 

Note:

Trammel(s):  hindrances or impediments to free action; restraints.

 

 


End file.
